Truth Be Told
by Sandy S
Summary: Set after the events of Season 12. Spike's been avoiding Buffy. Buffy is annoyed. Angel wants to save the person he loves, and Giles is adjusting to his own changes. A short little fix-it fic for Spike and Buffy. This is a sequel to "To Find Her Way Back to Him," but you don't have to read that to get this.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One – The Greener Grass**

Buffy was annoyed – annoyed beyond the telling of it.

At first, after the apocalypse to end all timelines was averted, she'd been happy and very relieved that everyone was living near one another. Because of Harth's time-traveling-power-hungry self, she'd come this close to losing everyone and everything she cared about.

She meant what she'd told Spike.

No one ever knew when something could happen and wipe everything away. She knew she and her friends would face whatever it was that tried to destroy them. There'd always be something to overcome and fight for.

She'd been so used to bad things happening and imminent demise that it wasn't until she actually saw a future where things had gone beyond horribly wrong that she knew that she had to appreciate the good in front of her.

And now, she wanted to roll around in the grass of the current goodness. The grass was greener where she was – not on that other hypothetical lawn where she was sure of everything about her life. She knew that complete certainty was impossible, and she didn't really want that anyway.

The only problem was that there was one huge section of her grass that wasn't being tended, and she really wanted to nourish it back to life – only the co-owner of said grass wasn't cooperating with the watering and sunlight part. Well, sunlight could kill him, so maybe he shouldn't help with the sunlight.

God, she sucked at metaphors.

Hmmm. She needed a lawn that could handle a few storms of acid rain or plagues of bugs, and she knew the one person who could help her with cultivating and maintaining that lawn.

Better-ish.

She had a little daydream of Spike following her to work and waiting in the shadows for her to finish her shift with the San Francisco police force. Then, she'd tell him she made a mistake in ending things, and he'd be reluctant but give in because he loved her. That fantasy seemed far away and self-indulgent. That Spike was too. . . . What was the word? Pull-the-hair-out-of-her-head, irritatingly _passive_.

She wasn't sure what she wanted, but it sure as hell wasn't someone who didn't fight for her the same way she was fighting for him. She needed a gardener who'd go after the damned plague with her and who'd help their relationship blossom through it all.

Old her – her before Harth (HBH) – would have already called him on his lack of trying. And she _would_ call him on it! Well, if she ever got up the courage to challenge him. (Did that mean she was being passive, too?)

So far, her grass rolling had entailed spending lots of girl time with Willow, patrolling and working with Faith, cuddling with baby Joyce, getting pedicures and grocery shopping with Dawn, prepping meals with Xander, making sure Angel got out of bed and had a space to talk about Illyria and Fred, and consulting with Giles on his Watcher-ly need to document what happened with Harth.

She'd seen Spike in passing; he was employed by the police, too, only just side gigs that were conveniently on his own. There'd been absolutely no time for talking, and she wondered if he was avoiding her even as he kept his promise to stay.

Now was the first time in a long time that she was spending quality time with him. And of course, they were on a Slayer-type mission together. Granted the mission involved Giles and Angel tagging along, but still, she'd been paired up with Spike, which made her heart beat a little faster in her chest and kicked her annoyance to the back of her brain.

Spike's hands were shoved in the pockets of his duster as he strode along beside her into a dark series of caves near San Francisco. They were supposedly the home of a very specific witch – a witch who could help them find and save Illyria, hopefully without bringing back a bunch of really dangerous demon types. Buffy wasn't sure the god king would agree to be rescued, but she wondered if the old one might be swayed by or because of Fred. Gunn, one of Spike and Angel's old friends, had been devastated when he'd found out about Fred in some sort of scheduled goodbye email. Gunn was on his way to help out, but they'd decided to leave him behind for this leg of the journey. Having any sort of lead made Angel eager to get moving.

Buffy glanced over at Spike in the dim light, trying to see his face, trying to decide what to say.

He lifted an eyebrow at her. "What's running through that noggin of yours, pet?"

"Nothing," she said with almost too much brightness in her voice. She was basking in the presence of the man she loved and hiding how she really felt. He knew it.

"Not nothing. I know you better than that. You've been too quiet along this little stretch here. Usually means something's on your mind."

She tripped over a rock or some small object in her path, and Spike automatically reached over and caught her arm before she fell, his cooler fingers setting her body aflame. "Thanks." He let his touch linger before dropping away. Was that a sign that he still wanted her as much as she did him? It was totally unfair that he could smell her bodily functions when she couldn't his. "Just trying not to lose track of Giles and Angel up ahead."

Spike squinted into the darkness ahead. "It is getting a bit dim." He rummaged around in his pocket and produced his Zippo. Flicking it open, he smiled in the tiny orange glow and nodded toward the unlit torch in her hand. "Fancy a light?"

She grinned at him and lowered the torch. Once it was lit, it provided a much healthier guide than the nothing that they had before. "Presto: light! Hallelujah! I can see!" Just a little too with the giddy, Buffy.

He inclined his head in the direction of Angel and Giles, who were now probably well ahead of them. "Shall we?" A tiny dot of a light appeared up ahead. "Looks like Peaches and Rupert lit their torch, too."

"Looks like. So weird about the flashlights." They'd short-circuited pretty much immediately.

Buffy and Spike kept moving ahead. And kept not touching again.

Spike didn't seem to notice Buffy's dismay when he'd so clearly read her mind earlier. After several seconds, he said, "It's not so surprising about the battery-operated lights. Witch has some sort of magical wards in place that probably trip up technology. Makes sense if she doesn't want visitors."

"Glad I didn't bring my phone. Buying a new one is _not_ in the budget right now." Saving up money had never been her forte. Maybe she would with the new job that was actually in her future along with her fancy new retirement plan and health benefits. She didn't know if working for the police was what she'd do forever, but it was a good starting place. Most people changed jobs about ten times before their forties. (And yes, HBH had Googled it when she'd been spinning about not knowing her life direction and comparing herself to her loved ones.)

Spike read her mind. "Stashing away the paychecks for a rainy day?"

"Yeah." She rolled her eyes up and donned a faux dreamy look. "Thought I might save up for that pet pig I've been longing for."

"From your Christmas list when you were six?"

She pointed a finger at him. "That's the one!"

He smirked at her. "That's really. . . cute." His voice was low and deep. "I can imagine you with the," he waved his hand toward the side of his head, "pigtails. Wishing for the pig that would never come. Poor Slayer." He stuck out his bottom lip, and it was all she could do to stop herself from launching herself into his arms.

"Hey! I got Mr. Gordo and a little sister out of the whole deal. Better than a pig." She paused for effect. "_Most_ of the time."

"A sister created by monks."

She smiled to herself. "I cherish those implanted memories. They're real to me."

His smile matched hers. "Me, too, love. Me, too."

They were quiet again for what felt like an eternity to Buffy.

"You know I'd give you the pig if I could," he said unexpectedly as they turned sideways to squeeze through a narrow space in the tunnel. "Though I'm not rightly sure how he or she'd get along with the cats."

The laugh spilled past her lips before she could stop it, and the sound was a bit too loud and happy for the ominous darkness and their witch search. Buffy's free palm touched the cool cave wall as she gripped the torch and held the flame away from Spike. "I thought you were giving Xander his three, so you didn't have six in your new apartment." She mentally kicked herself; his apartment wasn't exactly _new_ new, was it?

He emitted a resigned sigh. "I bloody well was because I can't leave them homeless. But Xander insisted on keeping the house cat free for now until Joyce gets a bit bigger."

"That's so vague that it sounds like you might have them forever." Buffy considered asking how forever with her sounded to him. Instead, she asked, "Does your apartment allow six cats? 'Cause that's a whole lotta cat in a one-bedroom." Was it weird that she thought Spike was sexy when he cleaned out the litter box? She frowned in her own head. That one shouldn't be answered. . . or said out loud. Clearly, this cat thing was bringing up lots of thoughts.

This time, he held up the finger to her. "_No_. And don't go tattling on me to the leasing office."

Buffy held her hand up to him. "Don't worry. I'm not." Was he inviting her over? She hadn't seen his new place, and god, she really wanted to.

"Luckily, most of them run and hide if it's someone they don't know that opens the door."

Buffy bit her lip as they reached the end of the narrow patch and the path widened out again. She felt like she could breathe a little again. Spike eased back to her left side.

She regarded him. "I could take a cat or two."

He couldn't hide his surprise. "Yeah?"

"Temporarily."

"Oh." Did he sound disappointed?

Before Buffy could explain, Angel's pale face appeared out of the darkness. He was wearing black, so his pale face looked a bit like a not-smiling Cheshire Cat. "You guys need to keep it down back here. Your voices carry."

"To vampires." Spike's voice was edged with sarcasm, his body close to Buffy's as he spoke over her shoulder.

Angel sighed but didn't roll his eyes. This was an improvement. The two vampires were getting on each other's nerves, and the undercurrent of tension between them was driving everyone bonkers. Well, maybe just Buffy because it seemed to happen mostly around her. "We found something," the taller and broodier vampire said, making eye contact with Buffy.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two – The Cave of Books**

What Angel and Giles had discovered was a large semi-habitable living space at the end of the long passage.

The rocky ceiling curved upward and was smooth except for a few stalactites along the edges of the room. The yellow lighting had no discernable source like candles or torches but diffused the tattered furnishings with a soft inviting glow. One end of the room housed a patched-up orange and brown sofa and recliner that looked like they were made in the 1970s along with a menagerie of different sized tables. On the other side of the space was a long wooden old-fashioned desk.

Almost every inch of space was covered in books of all types, shapes, sizes, and conditions. Whoever this witch was, she liked to research things or at least collect books. She and Giles were going to be best friends.

A pile of opened volumes was delicately balanced near Buffy's knee as she entered the room. Jamming the sharp end of the torch into the dirt floor next to Angel and Giles's and well away from anything flammable, she nudged the stack with the toe of her boot. "Lotsa books." The pile swayed.

Giles glanced up from where he'd pushed further into the room. "Be careful. Don't touch anything. We don't know what other spells the witch has on this place. Assume there's something that could harm us here in her innermost sanctuary."

"Got it." Buffy stepped cautiously to a less crowded area.

Angel squatted by a well-used fireplace and an old black metal stove. Giles resumed maneuvering around stacks and reading titles.

"No obvious witch here," Spike observed, scanning their surroundings with the instincts of a hunter. "And I'm not getting any inklings like with Rack. Though I suppose she's much more powerful than that git." He headed toward an ajar door near the large desk, edging around the scrolls of paper spilling into his path into an adjacent room.

"Who's Rack?" Angel asked while continuing his investigation of the witch's sort-of kitchen.

"Willow's. . ." Buffy frowned. "Magic dealer is the best way I can say it."

"That's not exactly it," Giles noted, still searching. "She wasn't addicted so much as not knowing how to use the power she had responsibly. You're really getting nothing?"

Spike shook his head as he stepped back over the scrolls. "Nope. And her bed's made and cool to the touch. Don't worry. Nothing untoward happened when I touched her bed." He waved jazz hands to illustrate just how not scary it was.

"Great. All this way, and she's not home?" Buffy crossed her arms and tried not to be too discouraged. Over the last couple of months, she and Faith had spent a lot of their time off combing through the retreated local supernatural crowd to find a name and location. It'd taken even longer for most everyone to be off work and in the same place at the same time to hunt for said witch, who may or may not be able to help them rescue Illyria and Fred.

Angel stood. "She's been here not too long ago. There are the remnants of some sort of egg dish in the pan, and the ash in the fireplace is fairly fresh."

"Some of these books are very interesting," Giles muttered almost to himself. His next words revealed his growing excitement. "Some of these books I thought were lost forever."

"Like what?" Spike asked casually, plucking a leather-bound volume from the mound on the desk. Dust swirled around him, and Buffy felt the urge to make sure he was still solid.

Giles gestured at the first ancient book on a shelf near his head. "This extensive history of Flauros, for example. It predates the grimoire from the 1500s that was thought to be the earliest surviving reference to the demon." Giles got more excited as he dotted the air near the spine with his finger. "A-and this work supposedly contains means for defeating the demon but also harnessing his ability to tell of the past, present, and future."

"Not a book to land in the wrong hands," Angel added, swiping his hands together to brush off debris.

"Think the witch is the wrong hands?" Buffy asked, picking up the first book nearby. It wasn't dusty like the one Spike held, but there was a painting of the biggest sword she'd ever seen on the cover. She could feel the ridges of the brushstrokes under her fingertips. As she explored the colorfully-illustrated ancient pages, something inside her – there was no other word for it than – _opened_.

Before she could make more sense of the sensation, she noticed Spike approaching her with an incomprehensible expression on his face. For some reason, the annoyance she felt earlier – the annoyance that she'd tamped down with lightheartedness – rose up unbidden.

"Knock it off," Buffy hissed. She clapped the book shut and tucked it under one arm, giving him her patented stare – the one that usually drove him absolutely crazy and ended with them making love wherever they were, using whatever surface was available. And today, the usual routine didn't make sense. Well, it did in her head, but the reality was different. They needed to talk first, and if that talk came in front of her Watcher and her ex, so be it.

Spike regarded her unreadably. "If you say so, pet." Then, with a wicked grin, he knocked the entire stack of books to the floor. Well, one of the stacks of books.

She held up her hand.

The fire she'd been missing blazed in his blue eyes, but he hesitated, not taking another step toward her.

"What are you doing, Spike?" Angel growled, his larger form edging around the sofa as he headed toward the other vampire.

Buffy's extended her finger toward Angel. "Quiet. I need to talk with Spike."

"Now's not really the time for this," Angel said with soft urgency – the tone one that used to go straight to her heart.

Spike kept his eyes on her, holding her captive. "Let her speak, mate. I want to hear what she has to say. And then, I have a few words of my own to share."

Angel sighed. "You could have picked a better time for this discussion. Am I right, Giles?"

Silence.

Buffy and Spike broke their trance for a moment, and Buffy asked, "Giles? You okay?"

Flipping through the pages of the book on the Flowers (Flours? Flautas?) demon, Giles spoke more to himself than anyone else, "I'm starting a new Council of sorts. With Andrew, of all bloody people. I don't want it to be a repeat of where we've been, and I certainly don't want to become like sodding Quentin Travers. Pompous, arrogant asshat of a man that he was. I'm too old for this. I hate that I'm too old for this."

Completely oblivious to anyone else, Giles continued muttering, and Angel threw his hands up. "Great. Everyone's lost it."

"Buffy." Spike was closer now – so close that her body was awash with electricity.

A half-smile graced Buffy's lips, and she faced him again. Before she could stop herself, her smile was displaced by a frown, and her eyes narrowed. "You've been avoiding me." Her words were harder than she wanted them to be, but she couldn't help herself. Somehow, she resisted poking a finger at his chest.

Shoving his hands back into his duster pockets, he shrugged. "Yeah. What of it?"

"Why? You said you weren't going anywhere." She was pleased that at least she didn't sound desperate. Well, she wasn't desperate. Damn it.

"And I'm not. I'm here, aren't I?"

But he wasn't here – not even in the way he was before when the First was breathing down their necks. "It doesn't feel like you're here!"

His jaw tightened and he shook his head almost to himself. "This is absolute bollucks. Why are you calling _me_ on this? You know very well that the way things are between us isn't what I want." He stopped there, and he looked like he was trying to hold something else back, but it came out anyway. "Or need."

She couldn't think of any response other than, "What do you mean? What do you need?"

Spike's eyes fell away from hers then, and it took everything in her not to take him in her arms. "Do I have to spell it out for you? Maybe I do." He drew a deep breath. "What I need is to not be strung along anymore like I'm your puppet. I've had enough of it. And I know that you're not doing it intentionally – not in the way of using me anymore. I know it's not the sodding same but. . ."

When he trailed off, the truth dawned on her. Swallowing, she crossed the gulf between them. "Spike." She reached out to touch his arm, her fingers hovering in space – not going there yet. Her heart was in her throat, so her question came out hoarsely. "Do you think that I stopped loving you?"

The corner of his mouth went up, and he peeked at her for the briefest of seconds. "I have no doubt that you love me, Buffy. But you also love Peaches over there. He's here now, and he's not going anywhere. I heard what you told him. I'm not stupid."

"What? What did you hear me tell him? And when?" Buffy tried desperately to remember any of the conversations she'd had with Angel within earshot of Spike. Stupid vampire hearing. It was hard enough to keep up with one vampire who might be listening, and now there were two.

"At the celebratory shindig at Dawn and Xander's. When the poof said he was staying, you said something along the lines of how you want to be around the people you love. And I'm bloody tired of being second place."

"Um, standing right here," Angel said, slamming shut the book he was perusing.

"It's just the same old, same old all over again." Tears were in Spike's eyes now, and Buffy's heart ached. "Angelus decides to stay in town, and everything's balls-up. And I'm just supposed to go along with it because that's what I do. Sodding soul giving me an overgrown superego. Sodding Freud and his sodding ideas. Hate most of them." He kicked at the base of the torch. Sparks flew everywhere but luckily didn't catch him on fire.

Angel's expression softened. "I'm pretty sure that Buffy meant she loves me the way she loves Xander or Giles. Much as I hate to admit it."

Spike gestured at Angel. "You see? He still wants you, too. And sooner or later you'll end up in bed together again, and I'll have to – "

Buffy couldn't wait any longer. She threw herself into Spike's arms, her hungry lips finding his as she kissed him with all the passion she'd been holding back for what felt like forever because she'd been caught in that middle ground of screwing things up and wanting to erase her decision. He melted against her like he hadn't ever left, and to Buffy, it just felt right – like home. God, she'd missed him and the way his touch left her feeling simultaneously safe and terrified. Not terrified of being close but terrified of it going away, terrified of her heart being broken or of hurting him.

When she drew back, she smiled at his stunned expression. "You idiot. I'm sorry. I messed everything up by being confused-about-my-life Buffy." She ran her fingertips over his cheek. "I love you. Not in a Willow or Xander way. Not in an Angel way. In the way I only love and trust you. My partner. My lover. My best friend. A-and I want you to mow my grass."

Spike lifted both eyebrows at her. "What? Mow your grass?"

She let out a short huff of impatience. "The grass is greener here with you. Not in other places where I'm not and where you're not. Not in places where we're not together."

"Is this like the cookie dough thing?"

Buffy's mouth dropped open. "You know about that?"

He smirked at her. "Maybe."

"You're just now telling me?" Her lips twisted to one side. "Never bring it up again." She bonked him in the arm.

He fake-winced. "Okay, pet." Then, he gently kissed her forehead.

She made sure he was looking into her eyes. "And I don't just want the person I can't have." He'd said that to her long ago. "If that was the case, I'd still be chasing after my crush from first grade. Do you see me doing that?"

Angel emitted a loud noise of frustration. Buffy glanced over at him. He was flipping through books like he was at a used book sale and finding nothing that satisfied him. He had a pile of discarded tomes at his feet, and somehow, a hunk of his gelled hair had come loose and was falling over his forehead in a very un-Angel-like way.

With some reluctance, she drew back from Spike, but she made sure she was still holding his hand. She slid her fingers between his and squeezed and was relieved when he returned the gesture. "Angel? What are you doing?"

"None of these books say anything about other dimensions or crossing them." Now, the other vampire's eyes were sheened with tears. "How am I supposed to save Illyria and Fred from eternal hell after they sacrificed themselves for us? God, I feel most guilty about Fred. She didn't ask for any of this even though I know she said she was okay with it." Blinking, he glared at Buffy and Spike. "If you're done with your little reunion, you could at least help me find the person. . . people I love."

Buffy gave Spike a pointed look. "See. He's in love with someone else. Not me. He loves Illyria. And maybe Fred. Not sure on that one. Capisce?"

Before Spike could reply, Giles eased around Angel, ignoring the vampire's desperation. "Buffy?"

"Yeah, Giles?" Buffy said a little too lightheartedly.

"I'm afraid I've come to an important conclusion since we've been here." He stripped off his glasses and polished them nervously with a handkerchief that he pulled out of his jacket pocket.

"Me, too." She honestly felt more light than she'd felt in ages.

"Not about you and Spike," her Watcher emphasized, still rubbing the lenses.

"Oh."

"What about then, Rupert?" Spike asked, nearly matching Buffy's exuberance.

"I'm going to need your help with the Council. It's a lot more than I anticipated, and I need a Slayer's eyes on it, too. A Slayer I trust. I know that you have your new career and that you, Faith, and I'm assuming Spike are revamping the whole supernatural division of the police force – "

Buffy interrupted him, "Giles. I'm in. I won't have time to be right there, but I'd love to help. I know Willow, Xander, Dawn, and Spike will be happy to chip in, too." She gave Spike a quick glance. "No pun intended."

Spike rolled his eyes at her, but he was smiling.

Giles put his glasses back on, situating them as he spoke. "It's just this age thing. I-I'm afraid I haven't adjusted to being in an older body again. Makes me realize my mortality in a whole different way. Not that dying and being resurrected didn't. Well, you know exactly what I mean having gone through it yourself."

She nodded and said solemnly, "I do."

"We're here, Rupert. Just because you're temporarily heading back to England to suss the remnants out doesn't mean that you'll be forgotten," Spike added.

"What Spike said. We're not going anywhere. We love you, Giles." Buffy let go of Spike's hand and gave her Watcher a hug. It was weird but not weird. She wasn't sure how she felt about him being older again either. "And we expect you home for the holidays. Thanksgiving especially. You know, without Native American spirit crashers."

Giles laughed. "We've had more than a few Thanksgivings since then. I'll be there. Hopefully well before the holidays."

Buffy grinned. "Of course, you will."

Angel cleared his throat. "Little help here?" His words sounded a little strangled, which was odd because he didn't need to breathe.

Everyone turned to see Angel being held up in the air by his neck - some sort of magical force suspending him so that his words came out garbled. Beneath him, a petite youthful-looking woman with bright green spiky hair the color of grass smiled at them. She held out her flowy burgundy skirt and gave them a good-humored curtsy. "Hi. I'm Buzz. I assume you're looking for me?"

"You're the witch?" Spike asked, clearly amused.

"At your service."

Buffy frowned. "Where have you been? Spike and Angel didn't detect a thing with their enhanced vampire senses."

Buzz shrugged. "I've been here. Listening."

Spike drew closer to Buffy and Giles, rounding up the troops. "Why're you holding Peaches up in the air like that? Not that I mind, you know. But you seem a friendly enough sort."

"Had to test you."

"Test us how?" Giles asked.

She gave herself a little hug, completely ignoring Angel. "I have a number of safety measures in place. As you noticed, I have many texts here that if they fell into the wrong hands would lead to total destruction of the world as we know it. And I happen to like our world."

"Same here," Spike agreed.

Her eyes sparkled even in the low light. "And I do have a life outside of here. I mean, I sleep here, but in the daytime, I go to college."

"Oh. What are you studying?" Buffy had thought about going back to college in her quest for clarity about her future, but she'd put it on the back burner for now. The police force had seemed like a quicker and easier way to be financially stable and still get to do the work of a Slayer.

"I'm studying Biology. Concentration in Botany at San Francisco State."

Buffy's thoughts went to Willow and for some reason, Tara. "Oh, neat! Will it help you with the being a witch thing?"

"Oh, yeah. There's so much to learn, and a lot of it's about respecting the planet and the plant life. If we're using herbs, we're taking their lives to fuel our magic, so. . ."

"Makes total sense to me. You know, I have a friend who'd probably love to meet you," Buffy gushed. Willow had been bummed she couldn't come, but she was helping Faith with something related to the Cleveland hellmouth.

Angel coughed a cough that was a half-gurgle.

"Pipe down, we're getting to it," Spike growled, and Buffy elbowed him.

She pressed her lips together, lifting her brows. "No need to get fussy. I'm with you, remember?"

"Sorry, pet. Over a century of resentment build up here. Not that I don't love the old poof."

"Will you please let our comrade down?" Giles's voice was heavy with tiredness.

"Can you promise he won't go crazy on the books? I mean, did you see him?" Buzz asked.

Spike narrowed his eyes. "Was that one of your security measures?"

Buzz nodded. "Well, yes. Good call. Rendering technology useless is one measure. The other involves the books themselves."

"How?" Giles asked.

"In case you didn't notice, the room is filled with books; it's inevitable that guests that find their way here and pick up a book. The books are enchanted so that whoever touches one has to speak the truth."

Buffy's eyes widened as she thought about that feeling of some doorway opening inside her. "Ohhh." Had they only revealed their feelings to one another because of another magic spell? She glanced at Spike, her eyes misting over. She wanted to reach for his hand, but something held her back.

"The reason Angel – that's his name, right?" Buzz asked.

"Or any number of nicknames," Giles mused.

"Angel's up there because he's the most interested in what I have to offer, and I want to make sure he has good intentions."

"He has good intentions," Spike grudgingly acknowledged. "Most of the time."

"S-spike!" Angel managed.

"What? You've made some right bloody wrong calls. I'm just stating the facts."

Buzz glanced back and forth, studying the pair of vampires. She seemed to be considering something, and she finally said, "And this room? It isn't really what I have to offer."

She waved two fingers in a single sweeping motion.

Angel fell to the ground in a heap. He jumped up, rubbing his neck. His query was humble. "What do you have to offer? I need to save Illyria and Fred."

"Fred. She's the reason I'm helping," Buzz said. "The old one. I'm not sure about her, but a human being in pain is not something I can abide."

With that, the witch snapped her fingers, and the old cavernous chamber dissipated, revealing a sleek, modern-looking, well-lit room with high ceilings that stretched up three or four stories. Books lined the walls, shelves stretching all the way to the top. Well kept, cozy-looking leather furniture surrounded by clean tables invited them to curl up with a good book, and there was even a coffee and tea service station along the one wall that was free of books.

"Wow," Buffy breathed. "Giles. This is like heaven for you."

Giles closed his mouth from where it had fallen open. "Indeed."

"Stay a few days," Buzz invited. "I have rooms down the hall that you can use for convalescing and phones you can use to call your friends." She checked her watch, and her face took on a panicked expression. "I'm late for one of my labs." She gave them all an even stare. "I have security measures here, too. Behave yourselves."

Buffy laughed. "You already know us too well."

A grin spread over Buzz's face. "See you soon. And oh, truth spell over." With that, she snapped her fingers a second time and disappeared without even in a hint of magic in her wake.

Buffy felt the something inside her close again, and the truth was sort of out, but she wasn't sure how she felt about it. Things didn't seem quite right. Not yet. Spike traced light fingertips down her spine with his free hand, and she shivered, smiling back at him despite her doubts.

Giles took the first step into the new room, turning his head this way and that, taking it all in, and no doubt already strategizing the best place to start. "Let's get to work."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three – Truth Be Told**

After several hours of scouring books, Buffy's eyes could no longer focus on the words on the two hundred fifty-eighth page of the umpteenth very big, very dense volume in front of her. Speaking of very-s, she was very close to surrendering to the fatigue.

They'd found some helpful things about how to potentially rescue Illyria and Fred, and those had led to other potentially helpful things and some other not-so-helpful-dead-end-y kind of things, but they were nowhere near done.

Hyped up on caffeine from multiple cups of tea, Giles was still going strong, almost as if to prove to himself that even though his body was back to being middle-aged, he could pull an all-nighter with ease. Angel, who was hyped up for a different reason altogether, was steadfastly working at Giles's side. Seeing them together was strange, and Buffy had no idea how Giles did it after Jenny and after his own death at the hands of the vampire. She supposed she shouldn't be surprised; she was in love with someone who tried to literally kill her when he first met her. It was a funny world they lived in.

Buzz had returned from class and was enthusiastically helping. Her energy seemed boundless. Buffy guessed that she didn't have too many visitors who got as excited as she did about all the books and magic stuff.

Buffy was trying to keep up, but her eyelids were just too heavy. She'd even drunk two cups of coffee or was it four? She'd lost count. When her chin fell off her anchoring palm and hit the smooth table, she felt a gentle hand on her back. Slitting an eye, she saw Spike peering at her with compassion.

"Hey, love. Let's get you to a room for some shuteye." He swept a lock of hair off her forehead.

"Mmmm. Can't move." But she wasn't about having Spike carry her. She'd carry herself. Just until they followed up on their conversation from earlier. There was more to say and more to sort out, especially given that they'd been under some sort of spell. Again.

Pushing herself to her feet, she dabbed at a bit of drool on the corner of her lips and addressed the witch. "Mind if I borrow one of those rooms you mentioned?"

Buzz put her thumb in the pages of the book she was currently browsing and stood. "Of course."

Buffy waved at her. "No, no. Sit. I'll find my way." Then, she smiled tiredly at Angel and Giles. "I'll just take a quick cat nap and come back to help."

Buzz eased back down, and Spike offered, "I'll go with her. Don't want her to fall asleep in some corridor and be disoriented when she wakes."

Buffy thought this was a good call and for more than one reason. Buzz seemed nice and all, but they didn't know her very well yet. If they were going to be separated from one another, pairs were best, and she really wanted Spike to herself after their magically-induced share-a-thon. Sliding her hand into Spike's they headed in the direction of the rooms.

The first bedroom they came across had a little lighted sign on the door that said, "Guest room." When Buffy reached up with tentative fingers to touch the glowing violet neon, her hand went straight through the sign, which winked out of existence. Magic. Huh. The witch was powerful, but she knew that already. Buffy pushed open the door and foggily moved her way to the full-sized bed with its cozy-looking comforter. Plopping down, she pulled off her shoes and then studied Spike, who was standing to one side seeming uncertain.

Her mind tried to tug her back in time to Sunnydale when she'd been kicked out of the house by her friends, but she managed to set the memory aside. That was several Slayer lifetimes ago. She patted the bed and smiled at him almost shyly. "Hold me?" She'd been missing his arms more than she could say. His eyes were sad now that the truth spell was gone, and she wondered if he experienced the same closing that she did. So, she tried to be open, whispering, "I love you." The words were so easy for her now, and they hadn't always been – least of all with him.

"Love hasn't been the issue in a long time, and you just admitted that you still love me in front of the whole world." He sighed.

The niggling anger pushed at her, waking her up, and her tone came out irritated. "Giles, Angel, and Buzz are the whole world?" She pulled at the bit of truth-telling energy that remained and added something she was surprised to hear herself say, "I need you to be mad at me."

"What? Thought you got the hint earlier under the truth spell."

"That was you being hurt. I need you to be pissed. Brassed off. Angry beyond anything. Mad. At. Me." She found her feet without issue, and more words flowed forth before she could stop them. "I screwed up. And I want you to be angry about it. Not this passive, sad, agreeable pod person who got rejected by a vengeance demon over a century ago and went out crying in the night!" She was pushing him and hard, and she knew it wasn't fair as soon as she said it. He'd shared about Cecily and the night he was turned in a moment of vulnerability well after Sunnydale, and she was flipping it around on him.

Her words hit home because his nostrils flared. "Slayer. What are you doing?"

"I don't want you avoiding me because it's too hard. I want you to fight for us!" She faltered here, realizing what she was saying. She should be the one leading this charge, or maybe she needed it to be both of them. "I'mmad at me. _I'm_ fighting for you. For us. A-and I want you to have whatever feelings you have. And more than once if need be."

Spike paused for half a second before taking the cue and running with it, much to Buffy's relief. He paced around the small room several times, his movements alternating between being fluid and a bit clumsy. Buffy thought she might explode with the need for him to say something – anything.

Finally, he stopped on the other side of the bed from her and threw out, "Why the bloody hell did you let me in only to end it when you had a-a. . . what do you call it? Bloody quarter-life crisis? Is that even a thing anymore?" He paused with tears in his eyes, lifting one helpless hand up to her. "You bloody well knew what it meant to me that you finally let yourself say the words. And here you go again, slinging them around when I don't even know what they mean to you or what it means for us. Obviously, they mean something different to you than to me. Even when I didn't have my soul, I meant them when I said them." He momentarily paused. "Even though I told you that I didn't get what love meant. I just saw what I deserved in a different way after I got the soul. It took a while, but I got there. But through it all, the feeling I had for you? That was the sodding same."

Buffy met his eyes calmly, not getting defensive about his denial of her feelings. "I know."

His eyebrows drew together. "Do you? Do you really?"

"Spike, I one hundred percent know that you love me. I know you loved me then, too."

He stopped then, a tear escaping one eye and slipping down his cheek, his arms dangling at his sides. "What do you mean?"

She marched around the end of the bed and captured his hand in hers. She needed him to hold still, so she could think, which was exactly opposite of what she'd just asked him to do. She was totally winging it and flubbing like the communication rock star she was. Taking a deep breath and closing her eyes, she tried to center herself. Then, she met his eyes with hers. "Did you forget that I _felt_ the love you have in you when Willow sent me on that mind walk in your head? Your love – it's powerful and huge and amazing – you have so much to give and offer. But there's this vulnerability and subtlety, too. S-something I haven't always appreciated." There were no English words to explain how it felt to feel what he felt.

The vulnerability she'd just referenced was inscribed on his features. "W-why are you making me go here? You want me to be mad at you. Truth be told, part of me is, but part of me really isn't. Part of me didn't know what the hell to do, so I haven't done anything because I'm waiting for you. I've gone round and round in my bloody head while I've been 'avoiding' you. And if you want to call that passive, I-I don't know what to tell you." He sounded as exhausted as she felt but in a different way. Exposed and defeated. Did he sound defeated? Oh god. That was way worse.

Buffy bit her lip and followed her instincts, putting herself out there, too. "You didn't get to take a walk through my mind. So, I'm going to tell you why it will always be you for me. You may not completely trust me anymore, but can you let me try?"

When he didn't protest, she pressed his hand palm down over her heart. "You feel this? That's my heart. It beats for you and because of you. You've gotten me through some of the darkest times I've ever had. You made me laugh when I sometimes just wanted to crawl in a hole and die. I wouldn't be here without you. It's more than just about giving me a pep talk, so I feel strong enough to go after some weapon or defeat some bad guy or choose to live. It's more than just about being with me because you're a good fighter. You were there for me even when I was hateful to you, and you've been there for the people I love, too, even without me alive. You drive me crazy, but you bring out the best in me, and I'd like to believe I bring out the best in you. You have a beautiful heart – one that's not selfish even though I said that before. I can't say sorry enough for hurting you again. I want to protect your heart and cherish it the way you've done mine. I hate that I hurt you because I was confused about my life. And I'm an idiot for getting so mixed up in my head and not getting what really matters."

"You're allowed to be confused about your life direction, pet." There was less defeat and more acceptance in his voice. Buffy couldn't tell what that meant. "And you said those other things a long time ago when I _was_ being a selfish, score-keeping bloke."

"But I'm not allowed to take out my confusion on you. And I'm asking you to be mad at me, so you can forgive me because if you can't forgive me and trust me enough to maybe let me in again, I-I don't know what I'll do." Tears rose and fell down her face in a heated rush.

Spike moved closer and stroked her cheek with his thumb. "I don't have to be angry with you to forgive you, love. I don't want to punish you. And I don't want you to punish yourself." He tilted his head, the corners of his mouth lifting just a little. "Though it's nice to see that you feel so strongly. You just have to talk with me. Tell me what you think and feel. I'm not going to stop loving you no matter what feelings you're having or what thoughts are rolling around in your head. Even though you drive me round the bloody bend sometimes, too."

She laughed through her tears. "Oh." She thought for a moment. "Besides a Buffy who shares her feelings, what do you need?"

"I need to know that if you have a personal crisis or if I do, that neither of us will pull completely away. Or if we do, it's temporary and not in the fake-mutual-breaking-up kind of way that your ex-honey and my grandsire can gloat over." Though the first part was serious, his tone was teasing at the end.

Buffy gazed up at him, searching his blue eyes. "Are you asking me for a commitment sans truth spell?"

The corner of his mouth quirked up. "Maybe. Sans spell for sure. Just you and me."

"Then, the answer is yes. Though I don't know how you'll believe me when we agreed to this before."

"Ah, pet, love isn't about always being a hundred percent certain all the time. It's about choosing the person over and over again even if times are hard or you fight or you have doubts or something big happens. . . or doesn't." He was referring to her struggle with lack of impending apocalypse.

"But you're constant," she protested.

He lifted his scarred eyebrow. "And you aren't in my head _all_ the time."

"Oh. Good point." She abruptly pulled him close. "Thank you for choosing me over and over. I'm choosing you again. Right now."

He wrapped his arms tightly around her and whispered into her hair, "And I'm choosing you."

Buffy felt a dizzying mixture of relief, hope, and love. But now, she was far from tired.

After a long moment in which her heart rate picked up considerably and his body responded to hers (even she could detect _that_ – no enhanced vampire senses needed), she jumped up so that her legs went around his waist. "Please make love to me before I completely lose my mind."

"Thought you were tired."

She made sure their eyes were locked with one another. "Not anymore."

He grasped her buttocks and then threw her on the bed so that she shrieked and laughed. "All right, missy. If you insist."

Then, he proceeded to make her lose her mind in a whole other way than she meant. Once she'd returned the favor and more than once, they lay naked in each other's arms in a pile of comforter and sheets on the floor. A shared pillow cushioned both their heads, and Buffy's legs were tangled with his. She brought her hand to his cheek and gently kissed him on the mouth.

"I love you," she said, yawning as exhaustion took over again – more insistently this time.

"I love you, too. Not quite sure how you managed all that as tired as you are."

"Did you forget who you're with?"

"Good point."

She fought back the eye droop and bit her lip. She traced a lingering finger over his chest and couldn't look him in the eye when she asked her next question. "Want to move in together? I think we should move in together. I mean, but if you don't. . ." She really didn't want to have to take things slow again, not when she was so sure.

"I'd love that, pet. But not into my place. Too many cats. Cat litter. Probably lost my deposit."

She yawned again, her jaw threatening to dislocate itself. "My place is pretty small, but with my new salary. . ."

"And mine. I'm bringing in some decent quid, too."

She turned around in his arms and nestled her hips and back against him so that he was spooning her. His arm was comfortable around her waist as if it belonged there. It did belong there. "We could get a bigger place. Maybe a place with a yard. You could mow the grass. At night, of course. I'll water it during the day."

He nuzzled and kissed the back of her head. "Right. Back to the lawn metaphor."

She elbowed him again, and he grunted good-naturedly. "And at least three of the cats are moving in with Xander, my sister, and my niece." Buffy was silent a long time, and it took her a while to realize he hadn't replied about the cats. "Right? I mean, you'd want that, too?" She didn't want to completely dictate.

He shifted, his arm tightening and pulling her closer. His voice was low and rumbly and heavy. "Oh, yes. Too many cats, remember?"

"Too many cats. I'm going to get old, you know." She picked up his hand and wove her fingers through his. "Don't want anyone getting ideas about me being a cat lady."

"You are the _farthest_ from being an old cat lady. Though I might be considered an old cat vampire."

He relaxed against her, and Buffy felt the weight of impending sleep marching closer.

Right before she slipped into dreams, he added softly, "And just to be perfectly clear, I won't give a fig about any wrinkles or grey hairs when you do get old. I'm here with you always."

"Good. I'm here with you. Always."

"I love you, Buffy."

"Mmmm. Love you, too."

Then, they fell asleep together, and truth told, Buffy slept the best she had in weeks.

The end.  
9-24-18


End file.
